


The Memories of Her Actions

by Wicked42



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: Angst, DadShadowsan, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Gray / Carmen romance, Memory Loss, Whump, happy ending with a lot of angst along the way, rewritten ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28865046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked42/pseuds/Wicked42
Summary: A rewritten finale, with a lot more whump and angst. Because I don't believe for a second that Carmen would just... move on. >.>SPOILERS FOR THE SERIES FINALE. Do not read if you haven't finished the show.
Relationships: Carmen Sandiego | Black Sheep & Shadowsan, Gray | Crackle/Carmen Sandiego | Black Sheep
Comments: 26
Kudos: 313





	The Memories of Her Actions

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS
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> Ok if you haven't left by now, you've lost your chance. XD 
> 
> Finished the show last night, and WHOO. That was some ANGST. I kept waiting for Carmen to be like, "HA surprise I fooled them all," and when I realized they actually made her do all that shit for 6 months, the ending just... stopped making sense for me. Like, bullshit, she'd just hug Shadowsan and move on. XD Where is the angst?
> 
> And more importantly, WHERE WAS THE WHUMP?
> 
> So. Enjoy.

The world shuddered in and out of existence, white hot flashes of pain accompanying each glimpse of memories gone. Sweat dripped down Carmen’s face as she staggered to the window of the Moroccan museum. The heavy jewel in her hand held value—but _why_ was a mystery.

What was she doing here?

She pressed a shaking hand against the glass, noting the reflections dancing before her: people slumped against the ground. People she’d hurt. Agent Devineaux, Agent Argent, Crackle—

Chase, Jules, _Gray_ —

pain, _Pain, PAIN._

Carmen gasped, dropping to her knees. The clunky jewel rolled from her fingers, as worthless as her old memories. Her hazy vision centered on the courtyard below, but everything swam. Pillars swayed like charmed snakes, a black sedan rippled like a mirage. And in the distance, a figure.

A shadow.

Another lance of agony sliced down her back, and Carmen choked. Her mind was foggy, disconnected, so caught between _now_ and _then_ that she couldn’t focus. Every coherent thought screamed for her to flee—and if she’d honed one thing perfectly, it was her survival instinct.

Carmen Sandiego ran.

And no one was able to follow.

* * *

Crackle didn’t realize how desperately he missed Carmen, _his_ Black Sheep, until the Okinawa heist.

An ancient _ama_ headscarf, once a statement of perseverance and integrity, soon to be a hangar in the Countess’s closet. Ironic, for a garment once thought to bring luck. While Carmen steered their boat around the dark side of the island, he cracked a joke about its ability to ward off evil—and how that’d fare once Cleo got her hands on it.

Carmen had merely stared at him, eyes ice-cold, and repositioned the helm.

The heist went off without a hitch. Of course it did. Carmen was flawless in her work, as dedicated to her new line of evil as she’d ever been fighting the good fight against her current employers.

It wasn’t the theft that bothered him. It wasn’t the manufactured lies they’d been sworn to uphold in her presence.

No. It was her _cruelty_.

How she aimed for the throat instead of the chest. Left blood spatters instead of footprints. Went out of her way to ensure every single bystander was eliminated before taking her prize.

She’d never killed… but it was only a matter of time.

Crackle watched her seize the headscarf with growing unease, watched her smile and start humming over the gasping, gurgling soundtrack of a guard with a collapsed trachea. Bruises were already blossoming under pale skin, and Crackle winced as he sidestepped the man. Poor bloke.

“Something wrong?”

She’d noticed.

Crackle seized, hating the way his heart began to thrum. Gone were the flutters of love, the glow of admiration. Her vicious acts had chipped away the picturesque statue of Carmen Sandiego, revealing a newly rusted, ruthless visage.

Every day, it got harder to remember she’d ever been anything but this.

And _that_ scared him.

“Ah, n-no. Just wondering if we shouldn’t grab some sake on our way out.”

Her disinterested eyes sharpened into a dangerous point. “Stay focused, or I’ll leave you behind.”

And with a swoosh of her red cloak, she sprinted past him, headscarf swaying in the breeze.

Crackle swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry, and followed.

* * *

Tendrils of blazing fire consumed her every nerve in pulsing waves.

Carmen stumbled through the streets, sticking to back alleys and praying no one was following. She couldn’t do much if they were: her heart was skipping beats, her sobs shriveling into breathless heaves. The pain would subside, but that almost made it worse—blissful numbness, absolute relief, then having it ripped away in a growing crescendo that repeatedly drove her to her knees.

And when she’d recover enough to push upright again, to stagger forward again, the clock reset.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

All the while, her hazy mind screamed to run, to hide. _Just a few more steps_. Someone was chatting in her ear… or was that a memory? The Faculty members, or a single voice, far younger, more vulnerable? How could she know what memories were real? She thought Gray was on her side, on _VILE’s_ side, but—

Another flash of memories, another wave of pain. Carmen hissed, hating the pathetic whimper that ripped from her throat.

Hating the weakness.

She’d sworn never to be weak again.

When? _When_ did she swear that? Because she’d never been vulnerable—never been weak. Top of her class, the operative who nearly captured Shadowsan, the star pupil of VILE Academy, the youngest Faculty member to—

Another wave washed over her, and she sobbed, grappling for the uneven brick wall to keep herself upright. A desperate attempt, ultimately unfailing. She was in an alley; she couldn’t have made it far from the museum.

_Further. Find shelter. Somewhere safe._

She fumbled for her comm instead, but it slipped from her fingers. She’d been sent here for a reason—the jewel—Cleo would be furious.

She wasn’t afraid of Cleo. And yet, Carmen’s heart skipped another beat, causing her to gasp for breath. What _was_ she afraid of, then?

Dying.

No.

Dying _alone_.

And it felt like she just might.

Another tsunami slammed into her—and finally, she drowned, unconscious before her body hit the dirt.

* * *

He’d rewired the baton to stun, but _crikey_ , it still hurt.

Gray awoke to another shock, this one a mild sting from his watch, meant only to revive him in case of an emergency. He smacked his wrist to quell the modified alarm, swallowing crippling disappointment as he realized _why_ he’d been down for the count.

She’d actually done it. She’d actually tried to kill him.

His eyes settled on the broken brain device, the one ACME hoped would solve this entire problem. What a laugh. All that did was create a whole slew of new ones.

He staggered upright, pausing at both Argent and Devineaux long enough to check their pulses. Alive—but bruised. Broken. Another trail of heartache from the now-infamous Carmen Sandiego.

Gray swallowed hard, eyes landing on the broken window overlooking the courtyard. A scrap of red fabric had been caught in the glass, and he traced her descent down, down, to a dent in the car below. It was barely visible, but he noticed blood staining the hand-cut stone tiles.

She was hurt.

 _He’d_ hurt her.

Gray groaned, massaging the spot on his chest where she’d slammed the stun baton. For a long moment, Gray paused at the open window, the crisp Moroccan breeze centering his thoughts. Cooling his anger, solidifying his remorse.

Carmen was gone again—and after a point, Gray had to wonder how long he’d keep chasing her.

But one of the ACME agents groaned, and Gray knew this was a waste of time. In the end, following his Black Sheep was never a question.

Setting his jaw, he leapt from the window.

* * *

Carmen felt something.

Someone was turning her over. Touching her, gentle fingers feathering over her cheeks, her forehead, her eyes. No one at VILE would dare manhandle her like this—no one except Crackle—no, _Gray_ —

Carmen moaned, seizing in pain, desperately trying, failing, to force open her eyelids.

“S-shtop—don’—”

The hands held her face, thumbs rubbing along her temples. The physical touch actually cut through the fog of her abused nerves, grounding her. A deep, accented voice said something inaudible, and the very timbre of it calmed her.

Until it sunk in just _who_ was speaking.

_He murdered your father, lambkins._

A father she’d barely known, but the ache was burned in her heart nonetheless, compacting years of anger and loneliness into a hot ball of coal that ignited her mind. The flashes of pain vanished, the sickening carousel of old memories stilling long enough for her to focus on the enemy.

The heel of her palm connected with his chin. Good. The bastard reeled backwards, grunting in pain as Carmen pried open her eyes, recentered her body. Her feet found the ground and she staggered to her feet.

Everything still swayed, but she’d been waiting for this.

She was only here for one thing: _him._

“Y-You,” she snarled, sliding into a fighting stance. It did little to stabilize her.

Shadowsan rubbed his chin, brow knitting together. “Carmen. I’m here to help. _Please_.”

She scoffed. Faculty didn’t beg, even traitors. How far he’d fallen in recent years. Too much time spent traversing the globe, reuniting stolen art—and helping—find—

Another nauseating cycle of memories, another moment where Carmen didn’t know up from down—or right from wrong. When she pitched forward, a strong, comforting grip eased her to the ground.

“This isn’t who you are,” Shadowsan whispered.

“I’m who _you_ m-made me,” Carmen hissed. But already, her conviction was fading. How could he turn her into this if… if he’d left VILE Academy?

The murder.

“My f-father.” Her voice was dark, furious, and she reached for her boot. For the dark blade she’d slipped there, just in case. Justice for justice—blood for blood.

But his hand caught hers, and he pressed something into her palm. A thin, wooden carving, smooth to the touch, painted and glazed to a shine. Carmen’s vision swam as she stared at it.

And this time, the last piece slid into place.

And her mind shattered.

* * *

“Carmen. _Carmen_!”

Gray didn’t have to go far. That was Shadowsan. Panic seizing his chest, Gray broke into a sprint. Carmen had come here tonight to kill that man; if he’d followed her in _that_ state, there was no telling what massacre Gray was about to find.

But when he skidded around the corner, the opposite of what he expected was true. Carmen was unconscious—and Shadowsan was very much alive.

And clearly terrified.

“Wake up! You have to open your eyes.”

“What happened?” Gray demanded, dropping to his knees beside them. He hunched over Carmen’s form, running a hand through her matted hair. Her bronze skin was nearly as blanched as the moon overhead. A drop of blood trailed from her nose.

His heart stuttered, his voice more vicious than intended.

“What did you do?”

For his credit, Shadowsan wasn’t one to lie. “I showed her this.” He tugged the tiny wooden doll from her hand, tucking it back into the folds of his shirt. “I thought it would revive her memory—”

“No, _I_ revived her memory,” Gray exclaimed.

“What?”

“ACME's device helped me. I thought—maybe it'd help her remember.”

The two men stared at each other. Neither of them had thought to ask what would happen if she remembered _too much_.

“We need to get her inside,” Shadowsan finally said. “It won’t be long before VILE realizes their precious tool is out of commission, and sends their forces to regain the asset.” With swift movements, he scooped Carmen’s limp form off the dusty ground.

Gray swallowed. “I have a hotel room. It’s not far.”

“Take me.”

* * *

She remembered _everything_.

Carmen hovered in darkness, unwilling audience to a dizzying slideshow of images that assaulted her ceaselessly.

Gone were the moments of fleeting pride, where the Faculty praised her over a video message and sent her on another mission in the same breath. In its place were missions she’d never experienced: missions _against_ VILE.

A decaying warehouse that somehow became home.

Countless planes over countless oceans, learning cultures and debating nuances.

The breathless thanks of those dedicated to preserving their heritage through artifacts, icons that would never stop being a target of people—people like _her_.

Carmen spun away from the misalignment of those values, hands over her ears as she tried to pretend she hadn’t spent the last six months coldly and meticulously wronging every right. It didn’t help. Instead, she spun smack into a new set of memories.

 _Friends_.

A cup of coffee overlooking the Sydney Harbor, laughing with a man she thought was gone forever. A girls trip gone wrong, then right, and the easy company along the way. A quaint diner and a boy she’d known for decades, offering a promise that he’d always be there. Shadowsan, reading a magazine while a goofy redhead doodled on his cast. That same goofy redhead—

—dangling over a thirty foot drop—

—eyes wide—

—as her heel—

Inside her head, Carmen _screamed_.

It did nothing to stop reality.

* * *

“It hurt like a bitch, but it wasn’t dangerous. They told me it wasn’t dangerous.” Gray’s grip tightened on her hand.

Behind him, Shadowsan paced by the closed drapes. They’d disconnected all electronics, removed Carmen’s earrings, taken necessary measures to ensure they wouldn’t be trapped, tracked, or caught. Gray had secured this hotel room independently, but they’d be foolish to think VILE didn’t know where they were.

Now Shadowsan moved almost robotically across the tiny room, reassessing every possible entrance. There were two: the balcony door and the front door. He’d already barricaded both, but he was clearly restless.

Gray could relate.

On the bed, Carmen panted for breath, her face pale with pain, flushed in fever. Her eyes moved behind fluttering lids, like she was trapped in the makings of a nightmare. Her hand was limp inside his desperate grip.

It looked like she was dying.

“They almost certainly buried her memories further than yours,” Shadowsan said grimly. He passed by her bed again, examining the seams of the front door. His eyes dropped to the knob, which he tested for the third time.

Gray was beginning to think they shouldn’t be barricading her in here.

He was _beginning_ to think she needed a hospital.

His insides twisted at the thought, and he inhaled shakily. “I mean, sure. ‘Course they did. But—but this reaction seems extreme.”

Shadowsan paused, dark eyes flicking to the young woman on the bed. “When I approached her, it was obvious she was in distress, but I thought she’d been injured in battle. I knew she wouldn’t let me help her if she didn’t remember who I was.” He closed his eyes, remorse painted on his features. “I did not realize her injury was inside her mind, or I never would have pressed.”

Gray didn’t reply; guilt ate at his insides, and in response, he bowed his head over Carmen’s shuddering form.

Shadowsan voiced what he was thinking. “The past cannot be changed. We must determine the best course of action in present.”

“Basic first aid,” Gray mumbled. 

“Mmm. Ice for the fever. Blankets for the chill. Water for when she awakes. And perhaps a friendly presence.” Shadowsan approached the bed, taking her other hand and pressing a firm finger to her wrist. After a few seconds, his frown deepened. “She is not well, and when she awakes—I doubt she’ll want to see me. I will retrieve the supplies.”

It killed him, Gray could tell. The older man obviously wanted nothing more than to stay at Carmen’s bedside, coaxing her through the pain. The fact that Shadowsan clearly loved her this much after six months—and something far worse than radio silence—made Gray pause.

“She’ll remember, man.” He meant it to comfort Shadowsan, but it came out quiet, almost like a question.

Shadowsan sighed. “If I have learned one thing in life, it is that there are no guarantees.” With a slight nod, he undid the balcony locks and vanished out the door.

* * *

Carmen couldn’t breathe.

The creeping panic of suffocation was an almost welcome distraction to the facts of the last six months. The horrifying acts of evil she’d performed with a sinister smile, dancing around her old friends, mocking ACME’s pathetic efforts to detain her. So many things stolen, and physical items were the least valuable.

Each VILE mission coalesced into spots along her mind, shimmering like stars and then glowing brighter and brighter until their light blinded her, forced her to her knees, until the darkness was entirely gone and all that remained was agony.

It was too much.

She gasped for breath, and it never came.

* * *

In the dark, dusty hotel room, her breathing hitched—and stopped.

Gray’s did too, but for an entirely different reason.

“No. No, no, _no_.” He stood up so fast his chair clattered to the ground. His fingers dug into her shoulders, counting the seconds, praying to a deity he stopped believing in years ago. When she didn’t draw another shuddering breath, panic smashed into him.

CPR. Did—did he ever learn CPR? The Academy didn’t bother with first aid; they aimed at not getting harmed in the first place. Tactless errors had consequences, and poor operatives learned the lesson quickly.

Gray dug deeper, into memories he’d had even after VILE wiped his mind. A distant lifeguarding position, a frivolous few weeks spent gauging swimsuits instead of water threats. And yet, the training cemented. The angle was wrong on the bed, so he scooped her up, set her on the cold tile floor.

Fingers interlaced, heel pressed to her chest.

Hard compressions to a rhythmic beat.

“Carmen, don’t you dare. You got people countin’ on you, you hear me?” A senseless stream of drivel poured from his mouth, mostly for his own benefit. He pushed firm and fast against her sternum, then tipped her head back. “Wake _up_.”

He shoved his lips to hers, forcing air into her chest.

The cycle repeated, far longer than he ever hoped it would.

And she coughed, spluttering.

Gray laughed, nearly hysterical as he turned her onto her side, smoothing the hair from her chest. “You’re okay, sheila. Don’t scare me like that again, you hear?”

* * *

She couldn’t hear, but she could _feel_.

She felt someone else making an effort, grabbing her in the abyss and anchoring her there, talking over the cacophony of nightmares, and it kept them at bay. And Carmen had never been one to give up.

 _Keep talking_ , she begged. _Please. I need you._

* * *

And by some miracle, he did. For the next hour, Gray sat in the chair by her bed and maintained a long, rambling narrative of his life—people he knew, places he’d been, things he’d done and wished he did.

Kissing Carmen Sandiego was on the list, and CPR didn’t count. His voice lilted in forced amusement as he challenged her to fix that.

Shadowsan came—and left again. He said he needed to reconnect with Carmen’s team, reassure them she was in their custody… at least for now. Check on the ACME agents, too. It sounded fairly empty to Gray, more excuses than anything, especially considering the man’s almost-forlorn gaze as he studied Carmen’s face.

Gray didn’t mention her breathing; she didn’t get any worse, and the older man was clearly stressed enough.

The sun was casting Casablanca in the golden glow of morning when Carmen finally stirred.

Gray held his breath, but she awoke slowly, and to him it felt as agonizing as easing into a cold pool. He glued his mouth shut, letting her figure out the process, but his grip tightened on her hand when she finally pried open her eyes.

Her gaze was dazed, exhausted, so unlike the dull, disinterested stare she’d adopted in later months, a stare interrupted only by the thrill of violence during her heists. Cautious optimism pricked the back of his neck, but things could still change.

She hadn’t opened her mouth yet.

Gray braced himself.

Carmen stared at him. After a breath, tears glistened on her temples and she whispered hoarsely, “Do you go by Gray, Graham, or Crackle now?”

Utter _relief_.

“You can call me whatever you want, Carmen,” he replied, quirking a grin.

* * *

It wasn’t so easy.

Gray smiled and chatted like nothing was wrong, but _Gray_ had been a constant companion the last six months. _Gray_ chose a life of crime, so nothing she’d led him through was wholly radical. He might have disliked her methods, but—she never risked his affection.

And so Carmen sat, feigning happiness at a life recaptured while the reality of this transition dug into her gut and blossomed into poison. No one would want to see her again. Gray was here, and he mentioned Shadowsan, but it must be a mistake.

None of her old friends would want her back.

When Carmen smiled, Gray didn’t notice that she was shattering all over again.

Shadowsan noticed.

He stepped into the room later that day, and Carmen’s heart seized. She forced herself to sit upright, forced herself to smile wider. Gray had retreated to the chair by the window and was out cold, snoring softly, but the world narrowed away from him.

Shadowsan stopped a few feet away. The distance was palpable. Even though rationally, she couldn’t blame him for his caution, emotionally… it wrecked her. 

“You are awake,” he observed. Neutral territory.

They were never neutral.

Tears spilled down her face. Her façade was broken, and all that remained was the shell of a scared, lonely thief.

“P-Please forgive me,” she whispered.

His shoulders sagged, and he all-but crashed into the chair by her bed. “In all the countries of the world, there would never be a place where I’d require your apologies.” Now he hesitated, then opened his arms.

An invitation.

Carmen’s breath hitched, and she wordlessly crashed into his chest. Her shoulders shook, but his strong arms wrapped around her, and he set his cheek against her head.

_Maybe things will be okay after all._

It was more than Carmen dared to hope.

* * *

It wasn’t until after the smoke cleared—after Zach greeted her with a delighted laugh and Ivy pulled her into a bone-crushing hug and Player flew in for a night of board games and pizza—after she’d reconnected with the Chief and shared a knowing look with Jules while Chase chattered about their upcoming siege—after VILE’s new location was finally revealed and every single operative converged on that forsaken island—that Carmen finally had a moment to herself.

Her thoughts weren’t pleasant, so she wasn’t upset when the solitude was interrupted by Gray scaling the rooftop.

She offered a slight smile, then turned back to the Seattle skyline. It was glowing pink in the sunset, a fitting end to a drizzly day. He settled beside her, and automatically, she leaned against his shoulder.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?” he asked, wrapping one arm around her.

Her eyes never left the buildings before them. “How do you align who you were… with who you are?”

For a moment, he was silent.

Then he answered, drily: “Well, for one, I recognize the difference between _me_ , and the mind-controlled supervillain version of me.”

Carmen rolled her eyes, pushing away from him. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Gray replied. She stilled at the intensity of his gaze. “Look, Carmen. You’re a good person. Maybe one of the best. Certainly better than anyone else coming off VILE’s island.”

It felt hollow.

She dropped her gaze. “I thought… I thought I was good. Then I realized how fragile my personality can be.”

Gray sighed. “Stealin’s easy—lifting what isn’t ours and pretending we earned it. Now, fine-tuning the circuitry for a thousand lights at the Sydney Opera House? That’s a bit more complex.” He bumped her shoulder. “Good things take time. Gorgeous thing is, you get to decide which you prefer.”

“Stealing or electrical engineering? Those are my paths?”

“Well, I bet you could get a job as a travel agent.”

Carmen snorted. “Ever helpful, thanks.”

But as they shifted to brighter conversation and the sun dipped into the Sound, Carmen couldn’t deny that for the first time in over half a year, she felt… oddly free.

And Gray was right.

It was a gorgeous thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it's written terribly. XD I feel like this just barely scratches the surface of that ending, so I might write more in this fandom later. We'll see. :P


End file.
